


Mottled Skin

by dustandroses



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Community: tamingthemuse, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, POV: Xander, Rough Sex, Underage Sex, Underage!Xander, breath play, darkish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandroses/pseuds/dustandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander bears his Master's bruises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mottled Skin

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt Notes:** Inspiration for this fic taken from the Live Journal community Tamingthemuse prompt: #461: Leash  
>  **Notes:** I labeled this NC17, although it could probably be taken as a rough R. It just seems more explicit than it actually is.

The first time Angelus wrapped his hand around Xander’s throat, he thought it was the end. Xander had closed his eyes, knowing that these were his last moments on Earth. The stench of the alley he’d been trapped in assaulted his senses, and he’d hoped that his body wouldn’t be left there, that Angelus would leave him on Buffy’s doorstep, or the counter of the school library – a worthy gift from a killer and a lover. 

He knew it was pride at its very worst, but if he had to be left as a souvenir from the maniacal menace, he’d rather he be presented laid out on the hood of the Gilesmobile than crumpled up in a dumpster. Not that it would matter to him anymore – dead was dead, no matter where you landed, but still – what was a little dignity, when the purpose of your slaughter was to give the heroine of the story a bad day. 

As his lungs gave out, and black spots swam before his eyes, all Xander regretted was that his death would be used to hurt Buffy, his golden girl. He hoped he gave Angelus indigestion. 

Surprisingly enough, he woke up, although he wasn’t sure that was an improvement. It turned out that his role was that of bait. Angelus dangled his new plaything in front of every demon in town, certain that word would get back to Buffy that her old lapdog Xander was Angelus’ new chew toy. He wore muscle shirts that clearly showed off the bite marks on his neck, but more importantly, to Xander, at any rate, was the collar. 

It wasn’t the traditional leather collar he’d expected to wear as Angelus’ slave. As a matter of fact, until the first time he saw himself in a mirror, he hadn’t even been aware he’d been wearing one. But there it was, dark, mottled bruises that showed in sharp contrast to Xander’s paler than usual skin – blue, purple, yellow, red, and black – all the colors in the BDSM rainbow. 

He’d have preferred the traditional studded leather collar, himself, but it wasn’t like he had any say. Not like he could say anything, in any event, since his voice had been the first thing to go. He was just glad that Angelus had brought someone in to perform the spell. If he’d left it up to his kooky childe Drusilla, Xander’d probably have ended up with a third eyeball. Or maybe a third ball, and as tight as the worn black jeans Xander was forced to wear were, that would have been an attractive sight. Not. 

The leash may have been invisible, but it was there, none-the-less. It tugged at him every moment of every day. The farther away from Angelus Xander got, the worse he felt. Unless Angelus specifically ordered him to stay put, Xander had to follow him around like a puppy, or his entire body started to cramp and tremble uncontrollably. It was a source of great delight for the other vamps in the mansion, who took turns getting in his way, and laughing at his reactions when the spell kicked in. 

What Xander hated the most was the way the collar felt. Angelus’ large, rough fingers pressed tightly against his bruises, cooling the swollen skin even as they added the newest layer of color and pain. With one hand wrapped tightly around Xander’s throat, the other toyed with his cock and balls, keeping him on the edge, aching and craving, his arousal a fierce, hungry need that only Angelus’ heavy hands could satisfy. He learned to love Angelus’ hands, almost as much as he hated them.

He dreaded the day that Buffy finally destroyed Angelus, as Xander knew she eventually would. He wasn’t sure what would happen then. Would he die with Angelus – his body dissolving even as his Master turned to dust? He couldn’t go back to the way he’d been before, he was sure of that. He couldn’t bear the thought of becoming a burden to someone he loved, shuffled off from one to another, each more embarrassed than the last over the way he’d keen in his sleep as he dreamt of heavy hands and mottled skin, black spots swimming behind his eyelids. 

Maybe he could find another who loved the sight of his bruises on someone else’s skin, because Xander needed it now, and he would for as long as he lived.


End file.
